


Have You Seen Me (Lately)

by tisfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing, Therapy, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, author abuses flashback sequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony wakes up in a car, handcuffed, in pain.  Same old, same old.Being kidnapped... again. Nothing new.By his boyfriend. Yeah, okay, that's new





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired from Counting Crows Song "Have you seen me lately"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hand stopped moving and there was a dull clack sound, like steel against iron, like cuffs against a restraint, and what did it say about his fucking life that Tony knew that sound?
> 
> He yanked at his hand again, hoping that just once, he was wrong, just once-- 
> 
>  _Clack._  
> 
> “No,” Tony said, licking at his lips, which were dry and painfully cracked. “No, I refuse to accept this. This is not happening.”

_Now_

He was going to get a horrible crick in his neck.

Correction, he already had one, it was just kept at bay by continuing to doze in the car. He could feel it, just like the sun headache, just like the burn on the side of his throat from the seatbelt, just like his mouth was dry and yet his nose was stuffed up, so he was breathing through his mouth and his throat was going to hurt like hell as soon as he came all the way awake.

But none of these things were as pressing as the need to just keep dozing. He knew, the way his stomach swayed and the way the light pattered against his face like rain, and the way the air conditioning buzzed fitfully, that there was something even worse out there, once he was awake.

A fact that he had to face.

That he’d forgotten, somehow.

Something he forgot.

And since he never forgot anything, if he bothered to pay attention to it in the first place, he knew whatever it was, it was really, really bad.

He ached all over and he was thirsty and there was a low, dark heaviness in his kidneys that said going to the bathroom probably wouldn’t go amiss. He might even have been hungry, a little bit. His leg ached on and off fitfully. Be kind to your knees, Rhodey’d said once, and Tony ignored it. And now he was in his forties and his knees sucked, but whatever, it’d be fine.

None of those things were worth waking up for and facing that other _thing_.

Whatever it was.

The music on the radio changed, station squelching unpleasantly before someone started turning the dial. It was an older car, or at least, the very base model for radio, because they went through the stations one click at a time, trying to find a clear signal.

Finally, the music settled on some today and yesterday’s hits bullshit that appealed to the K-mart shopper contingency, playing something ridiculously old. Yesterday, a long long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Somebody done somebody wrong, song. Whatever. Snooze.

Tony started to drift off again and a hand came down on his knee. Heavy, warm, with long fingers that squeezed just above his kneecap before sliding up and down his thigh. That was someone he knew, and Tony turned a little in his seat, reaching to put his hand--

His hand stopped moving and there was a dull clack sound, like steel against iron, like cuffs against a restraint, and what did it say about his fucking life that Tony knew that sound?

He yanked at his hand again, hoping that just once, he was wrong, just once--

_Clack._

“No,” Tony said, licking at his lips, which were dry and painfully cracked. “No, I refuse to accept this. This is not happening.”

He didn’t open his eyes and the hand on his leg squeezed again, almost like affection, except somehow, not quite. He wasn’t sure how having his leg stroked was possessive _and_ feral.

But it _was_.

Despite everything, Tony was waking up. Sleep was eluding him, and the more he tried to cling to it, the more he was aware of everything, and just how wrong it was. It was wrong, it was full of bad, and he was going to open his eyes and be extremely unhappy.

He allowed himself one last moment to crunch his eyelids tight, to not hear and not see and not smell and not feel.

He opened his eyes.

Not being able to raise his hands to scrub at his face _sucked_.

His eyelids were gummy and his eyes blurred and he blinked tears out of his lashes, trying frantically to clear them.

His hands were cuffed, each down at his side, and twisting his fingers, he could feel bracelets and a short length of chain that extended to another cuff, under the sliding bar at the bottom of the seat. One leg was stiff and awkwardly straight, and shifting his feet around, Tony thought maybe one of his ankles was wrapped in a makeshift cast. Had he broken something? He couldn’t quite get a handle on it.

His seatbelt was fastened.

He managed to wipe his cheek against his shoulder, which hurt. He probably had a black eye. That seemed par for the course, really.

Rolling his neck around, Tony got his spine to crack a few times, which was both utterly necessary, and hurt more than it probably ought to. God only knew how long he’d been asleep.

The hand on Tony’s thigh was still stroking him, petting him like he was a cat.

Tony blinked again, focused on the driver.

Tony licked his lips again, his dry tongue rasping over chapped skin.

Dark hair, tangled and clumpy with sweat, stuck to the driver’s forehead. Intense silver eyes never looked away from the road, a silvery metal hand on the wheel, steering one handed. He wore a black filtration mask over his nose and chin, but Tony would have known him anywhere.

Would have known just the side of one elbow, around the corner of a doorframe, the side of his cheek in dim half-light, the curve of his brow.

“Bucky?”

The driver snapped a quick look in Tony’s direction. His eyes narrowed, and if he spoke, Tony couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears.

The hand on Tony’s thigh came up, flesh fingers warm, callused, and stained with brown in the knuckles and under the nail. Filthy, really. Wearing a fingerless glove. His hand went over Tony’s face, squeezing at his cheeks. _Shut up._

The eyes that looked at him were at once intimately familiar and utterly alien at the same time.

Tony wasn’t looking at Bucky Barnes, and Bucky wasn’t looking back at him.

Tony was, for the first time in years, looking straight into the cold steel gaze of the _Winter Soldier_.

***

The first rule of survival: don’t panic.

Douglas Adams had probably said it better, but Tony was pretty good at not panicking. At least when the situation called for it. After action, he was worse, tended to fall of pieces. Hopefully when other people couldn’t see him.

More recently, Bucky had been there for him, to ease him through panic attacks, to gently nudge him into self care, to earnestly encourage him to get help.

Thinking about Bucky just now was not aiding in the whole _don’t panic_ rule.

Tony pushed those thoughts ruthlessly aside. They weren’t helping.

The second rule of survival: assess the situation.

Tony let his gaze drift around, taking in his surroundings. Given time, a tool, and incentive, Tony could get out of any basic handcuffs. He didn’t have a tool, or time, right now, so that was out. The car was old, the dashboard was thick with ancient dust, and the dials and indicators were just that. Dials. And indicators. Probably at least mid nineties or even older, the stereo had an actual facts cassette slot.

They were on a backroad, not an interstate, and by the noises the engine was making, Tony suspected that speeds above fifty were unlikely. The occasional car passed them as they hit dotted yellow lines. There was just enough tint to the windows that, even if someone was looking, Tony didn’t think they’d be able to make out a signal for help. Not that Tony could make one without the Winter Soldier noticing.

The Winter Soldier went back to petting Tony’s thigh.

The car’s air cooling system wasn’t working well; it would blow super cold air for a while, accompanied by streams of condensation fog from the vents. Then it would cut out, the indicator on the dash flickered. The Winter Soldier turned it off with a jab from his thumb before going back to stroking Tony’s leg. A few moments later, he’d jab it again and the cold air would come back.

Whenever this happened, there was a sudden awareness, as the air moved in the car, of the smell. Sickening, and sweet, like a rotten apple, or… Tony flicked his eyes in the Winter Soldier’s direction.

Clad in his uniform, blue tactical jacket and brown pants, both filthy, it was hard to tell, but Tony thought there might have been a splotch of red against his belly. Dark, really, almost black against the blue material.

Might have been oil, or dirt.

But also, might have been a wound. Blood. Infection.

When Tony tried to ask, he was silenced again. Not wanting to provoke the Winter Soldier into doing anything else that Bucky might regret, Tony reluctantly shut up.

Tony slouched over, as far as he could against the door. The seatbelt gnawed at tender skin on his throat. Tipping his head, Tony could just see in the side view mirror that he had a bruise there, too. When he was as far away from Bucky as he could reasonably get -- the cuff on his left hand was stretched to the full length, the metal biting into his skin -- Tony probed around under the seat.

Old car like that, probably there was something under the seat that wasn’t a candy bar wrapper. Paperclip or an ancient screw or-- something cool and slick under his fingers.

A pen, maybe? Pens were good. Pen might not really be mightier than the sword -- ask anyone who’d ever been stabbed -- but they were pretty good all purpose tools.

Slow and subtle. Tony gradually worked his fingertips over the object, trying to get it closer so he could grab it. Looked out the window for street signs, for any clue as to where the hell they were.

And thought about what had led them here.

***

_Two weeks previous_

Tony wasn’t what anyone could call nostalgic. He didn’t save boxes of old concert tickets or look at photos of himself from fifth grade, or save all the magazines that he’d been in. He was a futurist, always looking forward.

Also, it was easier to avoid bad memories -- of which there were a lot -- if he didn’t go digging around in that old boneyard.

When Bucky had first brought up the idea of doing something for their anniversary, Tony had scoffed. “What do we need to celebrate that for?” he’d asked before he even thought his way through it. “The end of your first year with me, sounds like a prison sentence.”

Anyone else might have gotten mad -- Tony had enough exes to know that most people liked those sorts of things and that was one of the reasons why he had so many damn exes. Probably. His lack of anything remotely resembling normal behavior, his laundry list of bad habits, and his complete inability to understand people all added up to why the hell would anyone stay with him for a _year_ , even considering the money and fame he brought to the table. Pointing out that Bucky had been his boyfriend for that long seemed like a surefire way to make sure the first anniversary was the only one.

But Bucky hadn’t gotten mad. He’d just nuzzled at Tony’s ear, soft and sweet. Planned the evening out perfectly. They’d gone to movie marathon of old cult classics, shown in one of those converted vaudeville theaters, with good sound and comfortable chairs, shared popcorn and made fun of the films. Bucky’d taken him on a cheesy, romantic carriage ride through the park, and they’d had a slice of cake with the rest of the Avengers.

Low key, but celebratory.

And then Bucky had tugged him back up to their shared living space and Bucky had proceeded to unravel Tony in all the best ways.

“Most everything that’s ever happened in m’ life brought me to you,” Bucky told him, as they lay together after passion was spent. “Can’t regret it. I’ll love you forever, no matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *notes: I will be posting this all today


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Twelve hours ago,” Maria Hill said, her voice no-nonsense as always in Tony’s ear, “five convoys of supplies went missing. Munitions bound for US Military bases from Hammer Corporation.”
> 
> “And I care why?” Tony scoffed. Whoever the fuck was stealing Hammer Tech was dumber than Hammer. Justin, at least, was blinded to his flaws by an ego the size of the Lower East Side.
> 
> “Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be in your bailiwick,” Hill continued, either ignoring Tony or agreeing with him, it was hard to tell. “But the fact is, all five trucks went missing simultaneously.”

_Now_

“I know,” Tony started, “that you don’t want me to talk, but I just gotta say, I really need to use the bathroom, and it’s absolutely up to you if you want the car to stink, so I’m just saying. And you know, while we’re at it, food and drink? Unless you want to be hauling around a corpse in a day or so? If we’re wishing for pie in the sky, might as well ask for ice cream, coffee or sleep in an actual--”

The Winter Soldier raised a fist, and Tony clamped his mouth shut. He’d been on the other side of those punches about two years back, and while the bruises and pain had faded, the trust issues had eventually been overcome, and the relationship they’d built on those ashes had been absolutely worth it, Tony didn’t have a burning urge to get punched in the face by a super soldier again.

It was bad for his ego, and his dentist really didn’t like it.

The Winter Soldier scowled, but he turned off the main road. The side road was gravel, and the car was even less stable on the surface, hitting potholes (which, by the way, totally jarred Tony’s bladder and the bathroom situation was getting _really_ urgent) and shuddering almost continuously.

This was how it all ended, Tony thought. There was nothing but woods and fields to either side of the road, and the sun was going down. He was going to die like some dumbass hero in a horror movie, knifed by a monster in the darkness.

The Winter Soldier, Tony knew, was a monster. Like frankenstein's creation, a bit of the world war two sniper, a bit of super soldier, a bit of Bucky Barnes’ overprotective loyalty, a lot of Hail fucking Hydra, stumbling around and while Bucky didn’t mean to do any of those things, he still did them.

They turned off the side road just as the last touches of red and orange were disappearing behind a tree. There was nothing there, an empty lot.

“Hand,” the Winter Soldier said, holding up a key. Tony turned his wrist and fumbled as he was unlocked, the seatbelt depressed. He considered his options, but trying to punch the Winter Soldier with one hand still under the car seat probably wasn’t the best plan. He waited and the soldier came around the other side of the car. Tony held out the other wrist.

The Winter Soldier ignored it, unlocking the cuff from the bottom of the seat, then clicked that cuff to his own arm, effectively locking Tony to him.

Tony shifted, as if to get out of the car and his leg reminded him that standing up was a thing he hadn’t done in a long time, and also, that it hurt incredibly.

Tony whimpered, and the Winter Soldier lifted him out of the car. Tony’s arm was dragged uncomfortably across his chest in the process, but he was up and out, and if he was cradled in the soldier’s arms like a bride, that was…

Well, it just was. Tony puffed out a breath of air, dragging in deep breaths, trying to repress the pain. He was carried several feet away from the car and the soldier put him down. Near an old split rail fence, so Tony could use the wood for balance.

With a clink, the soldier changed out Tony’s handcuffs, securing him to an iron ring on one of the fence posts. That wasn’t creepy at all, no.

“Don’t try to run,” the soldier warned him, and that was chilling, listening to Bucky’s sweet voice say something so threatening. “I’ll catch you.”

“Yeah, like that’d be hard,” Tony spat. “Fucking ankle’s busted, and where do you think I’d go?”

“Exactly.”

The Winter Soldier left Tony alone to do his business, which Tony supposed was better than being Right There. Not that Bucky hadn’t seen everything Tony already had to offer, but-- it was weird, it was just weird and creepy and upsetting.

Tony shook his arm, and clipped the pen he’d recovered in his pocket. He’d probably still be able to reach it. Checked the rest of his pockets, just in case the Winter Soldier had forgotten there were things like cell phones that existed, but no such luck. Even his wallet was gone, but it wasn’t like that mattered. What was he going to buy, anyway?

He checked over his shoulder before unzipping and taking a leak, oh, thank god. The grass got a thorough watering while Tony watched the Winter Soldier open the trunk of the car, mess around. The angle and lighting were bad, all Tony could see was the trunk’s tiny light reflected against the Winter Soldier’s arm, a profile of his face.

But he didn’t pull out a large gun, which Tony supposed he would count as a win.

Tony tucked himself back in and zipped up.

“Come on,” the Winter Soldier said, and Tony about shrieked, having not even noticed the man move, not hearing him at all. “Long way to go.”

Well, that was more information than Tony had gotten in a while. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” the Winter Soldier said. That could have meant anything, Tony supposed, except Bucky’s home was either the Avenger’s Tower or Brooklyn, neither of which was anywhere near where they were. The Winter Soldier’s home was somewhere in Siberia, maybe. Tony didn’t think they’d left the country, but he still didn’t know where they were.

“Which is where?”

The Winter Soldier held up a bottle of water with a straw in it, and Tony was too busy making grabby hand for it (his other hand still being handcuffed to Farmer McFarmerFace’s fucking fence post, thank you very much) to listen to the answer. If the Winter Soldier even said. He sucked water until the bottle was empty, and then whined.

“More?”

“Later.”

Well, it would have to do, Tony guessed.

***

_One Week Ago_

“Twelve hours ago,” Maria Hill said, her voice no-nonsense as always in Tony’s ear, “five convoys of supplies went missing. Munitions bound for US Military bases from Hammer Corporation.”

“And I care why?” Tony scoffed. Whoever the fuck was stealing Hammer Tech was dumber than Hammer. Justin, at least, was blinded to his flaws by an ego the size of the Lower East Side.

“Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be in your bailiwick,” Hill continued, either ignoring Tony or agreeing with him, it was hard to tell. “But the fact is, all five trucks went missing simultaneously.”

“Okay?” That was Widow.

“From different locations all over the globe,” Hill said. She uploaded a global map, and spun it. Tony watched the tiny world go ‘round in his HUD. Funny, how peaceful it looked, from so far away. “Fort Bragg, Camp Bondsteel in Kosovo, Camp Darby in Germany, Pine Gap in Australia, and Fort Wainwright, were all expecting shipments and all lost contact with their convoys at precisely oh-eight hundred, Greenwich mean. Literally, within seconds, every single truck in that convoy, weapons, guarding and escort vehicles. Vanished without a trace.”

“That is concerning, ma’am,” Cap said. “Do we have any aerial or satellite recon?”

“Remember the _without a trace_ part of this discussion, Captain?”

The feed was blurry, two satellite images and set of traffic cam stills. Literally, between one blink and the next, everything was gone.

“Friday, run that,” Tony said.

“On it, boss, there’s no tampering that I can detect, not with the images or the camera.”

“Why the hell would someone use tech far in advance of what was available in those trucks to steal the technological equivalent of a dart gun?”

“I don’t know,” Cap said, “but if they want it, and they can make something vanish like that, I’m pretty sure we don’t want them to have it.”

“Maybe they just don’t want us to have it,” Hawkeye piped up. “Like trying to save your sister from a bad prom date or something.”

“You don’t have a sister,” Nat said.

“Well, what if I did?”

“Let’s just find them first,” Cap said, “and we can sort out motivation later. Anyone have any intel here that might get us a place to look?”

“Friday, baby, love of my life--”

“I thought I was the love of your life,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh, sorry, was that outloud?”

“I’m on it, boss.”

“On what?” That was Hawkeye again. “Do you have a mind-reading AI now, Stark, because that’s just creepy.”

“The next logical step, Agent Barton, would be to run historical searches on other disappearances of this nature -- of which there are literally thousands, although some of them were quite a while ago -- and likewise to negotiate an exchange of information with Hammer Tech’s security to see if there are energy readings or trackers that we might-- ah, I have something.”

“Let’s have it, Fri.”

“Wait, wait, no, go back, what do you mean, literally thousands? Of what?” Hawkeye interrupted.

“Technology, or people, suddenly disappearing,” Friday explained. “Of which the _Mary Celeste_ and Roanoke colonies are among the most well-known, but it is a documented phenomena of which no logical conclusion has yet been suggested.”

“History lesson aside, what have you got for us,” Tony said.

“Hammer’s weapons may well be substandard,” Friday said, “however they are distinct. After incidents in Harlem, the use of Judas bullets, formed from discarded Chitari weapons and materials, have been tracked and studied. I am reading in scans, high concentrations of Chitari byproducts where, previously, none had existed. I am marking your maps.”

“We have three main facilities,” Tony said, although the map showed rather remote locations. “And no way of knowing who’s there or what they’re looking for, let’s divide and conquer, Cap?”

“Thor, Bruce, Hawkeye,” Cap said, “I want you to check out the Montana location. Check out, only. Do not engage. Nat, with me, we’ll see to Nova Scotia.”

“And that leaves remote island off Madagascar for Winter Smolder and me. Just think, honey, our very own island, probably with a volcano conveniently shaped like a skull, that’ll be a fun vacation, won’t it?”

“Really, babe,” Bucky said, “I’m more of a staycation kinda guy. I’d really much rather have a hot dog and a walk in the park, but sure. Fighting bad guys on Skullcrusher Island, it is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Judas Bullets, featured heavily in the Luke Cage television series on netflix


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he needed was a little bit of time.
> 
> And some luck.
> 
> He got the cover off, started pulling the wires inside. That was the easy part. Now-- he ran his fingers down, checking. Without much light, he’d have to do it by feel, and he really didn’t spend a lot of time stealing cars.
> 
> \--time…
> 
> And luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: A little medical gore toward the bottom

_Now_

Tony roused, a little, when the car came to a stop. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but it was still dark. They were in a parking lot; Tony could hear the traffic out on the highway somewhere. A dim street light illuminated almost nothing, a row of cars, a brick wall, some dark windows and a squat, ugly looking building. Doors. Numbers.

A motel.

Oh, thank god, maybe they were actually going to be able to sleep. And if not sleep, it might be possible for something more like _escape_ , or _telephone call_ , or something.

Also, more water, and possibly food.

Tony tried to dismiss the other part of his brain that was a little more familiar with seedy hotels being used for torture and questioning and left for dead. Bad horror movies.

He didn’t think he’d been too much trouble for the Winter Soldier, but he also didn’t know what the soldier wanted.

He kept his head leaned against the window, despite the pain in his neck. The Winter Soldier might not realize that Tony was awake, might not--

The door opened but there was no interior light; the soldier must have unscrewed them. No one could see in, see the person left there, even if there wasn’t anyone to see. Just another reminder that Tony had been unpersoned rather effectively.

No words were spoken, and Tony slitted his eyes open again to watch the Winter Soldier walk away. It was decidedly the Winter Soldier and not Bucky, not his Bucky. Even when Bucky did his murder strut, there was a certain awareness there, a knowing and a wink and a nudge. The Winter Soldier just barreled in a given direction, not caring about things like obstacles or path, the goal in sight.

He disappeared around the corner of the building.

Tony reached for the pen clipped in his pocket. It took him longer than he’d wanted to get the barrel untwisted, but he got it. Picking handcuffs was harder than it looked, particularly the ones like the Winter Soldier had acquired, and Tony wasn’t going to wonder if _Bucky_ had all these supplies, or if he’d just gone Winter Soldier and found a stockpile or something. He scowled, flipped the lock cover side again, jammed the ink tube into the lock’s tumbler.

His wrist was aching and his fingers stiff and sore before the lock gave way. Tony didn’t waste any time breathing a sigh of relief. Whatever the Winter Soldier was doing, Tony didn’t have much time left.

He twisted in the seat and used the makeshift lockpick on the other cuff, all the while his heartbeat telling him to hurry, the pain in his throat, in his leg, in his head, telling him it was already too late, and even if he got himself out of the handcuffs, what the hell was he going to do? Where the hell was he going to go, and how the fuck was he going to get there, anyway?

Well, he picked the cuff, maybe he could just--

The second cuff came free and Tony jammed the locks down to the car door, slid over to the driver’s seat. Bucky hadn’t done anything so stupid as leave the keys inside the car, so Tony started his work on the steering column. At least it was an old car, hot-wiring it should be possible without any need for special tools. Just time.

All he needed was a little bit of time.

And some luck.

He got the cover off, started pulling the wires inside. That was the easy part. Now-- he ran his fingers down, checking. Without much light, he’d have to do it by feel, and he really didn’t spend a lot of time stealing cars.

\--time…

And luck.

Both ran out. The door opened suddenly and the Winter Soldier reached in, grabbing hold of Tony with one hand.

Tony got one look at the Winter Soldier’s face before a fist filled his vision.

Sparks of pain--

***

_Five Days Ago_

Skullcrusher Island -- the name stuck around even if Friday told him where they actually were, it wasn’t like it mattered -- was more like island paradise cum warehouse.

Tony didn’t even see the warehouse at first; there was some sort of shiny shield over the whole island that reflected forests and beach, and if anyone had been going by the place, they wouldn’t have seen anything. The glinting edges of the shield resembled nothing more than a heat mirage.

“Well,” Tony said, when they touched down in the sand, “let’s see if anyone’s home.”

“Are we gonna knock, is that the plan?”

“Sarcasm’s a good look on you, soldier.”

The shield was optical only. Bucky tested that theory by throwing a broken bit of stick through it. It disappeared when it passed through the shield, but if Tony squinted just right -- and Friday did something to the HUD to show him the actual topographical and radar readings -- he could sort of see it. Like a shadow.

“Step on through?”

“Sometimes you gotta fly before you can crawl,” Tony responded.

And that was probably stupid, but they did it anyway. The other two teams hadn’t reported any high tech optical shields around their sites, but they were also on warehouses inside of cities, and there was nothing that unusual about a building in a city.

Nothing happened. But on the inside of the shield was a huge ziggurat of… shipping containers? Old ships were tossed on the island like an angry giant had left his toys behind. Trucks and planes and even a fucking dirigible.

“What even the hell?” Bucky breathed.

“I think we might have found where everything from the bermuda triangle’s been dumped,” Tony added.

“Same,” Widow said in his ear. “Only ours is underground. Are you--”

“Widow, report?”

“Sensors indicate that the underground warehouse is-- at least seventeen stories, straight down.”

“Next up on Ghost Hunters, hoarders are us,” Clint said.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Neither does any of this. Where… the hell is everyone? I mean, if I had a shit ton of stuff in storage like this, I’d at least have a damn guard.”

“Friday?”

“I’m not seeing any recognizable surveillance devices, boss,” Friday reported.

“Yeah, no-- wait. What’s recognizable mean, in this case?”

“There are several unknown devices that I’m seeing--” Friday highlighted and dragged various images; they could have been cameras. They could have also been the alien version of an air freshener.

“What-- do we have a bead on any of these--”

“There are traces of Chitari, Asgard, Black Hand, as well as other, non-human, non-terrestrial signatures.”

“We’re sitting on a treasure trove of weapons, supplies, and tech. For what?”

“There’s a signal coming from deep inside the compound, boss.”

“Well, let’s track it down,” Tony said. “Something tells me I’m going to regret this.”

***

_Now_

“So, so much regret,” Tony said. His headache was back, screaming. His shoulders ached, and yeah, when he tugged at his arms, they were restrained over his head. At least he was laying down, and seemed -- he squirmed to test this theory -- to be in a bed.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He tongued gingerly at his mouth, tasted blood. “Did you _have_ to hit me in the face?”

“Attempted escape was… inadvisable,” the Winter Soldier told him.

“You know I’m not going to stop trying,” Tony said.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“I don’t.” A hand jostled Tony’s injured leg and he couldn’t help a soft groan of pain. “Who are you.”

“Tony Stark,” Tony said, because might as well get the softball questions out of the way. Usually, the first obligation of being a prisoner was to escape; the second was to deny the enemy.

Whoever made the rules didn’t know about the Winter Soldier.

“Look, what do you want?” Tony sighed. He was pretty sure the Winter Soldier was utterly capable of extracting whatever information he wanted. Tony was also pretty sure that doing so would be very bad; both for Tony, and for whatever remained of _Bucky_.

Keep the torture to a minimum, that should be a new rule.

“Who are you?” The Winter Soldier prodded Tony’s ankle again.

“Tony Stark,” Tony barked, trying to shift away from the poking and prodding. He couldn’t go very far; he was handcuffed, _again_ , spread armed, to the bed. Kinky, but not in the fun way this time. “All the pain in the world isn’t going to change that answer. You have to know-- where’s my wallet.”

“Anthony Edward Stark,” the Winter Soldier said, pulling the wallet out of his own pocket and flicking open to the driver’s licence.

“See?”

 “I don’t know you,” the Winter Soldier said. “But… but I _do_ know you.”

“Yeah, honey, you do,” Tony said. “I think… I think your brain got scrambled a bit. Look, we can figure this out, and I can help you.”

“Medic?”

“What?”

“The Asset needs a medic,” the Winter Soldier said, very slowly, like talking to a child. “You will provide medical care.”

“Not strung up like a Christmas goose, I won’t,” Tony told him. “That’s just _practical_ , you don’t have to--”

The Winter Soldier stopped, fingers just shy of Tony’s injured leg. “Tell me what you need.”

“Can I at least see what I’m working with, or is this a guess and hope situation?”

The Winter Soldier peeled off his jacket, gingerly. A patch of blood stained that material. He didn’t wince, but there was a stiffness in the Winter Soldier’s motions as he rolled up the undershirt to reveal an infected wound; a long, jagged cut, and--

“Jesus Fuck, did you use a staple gun to keep your guts inside?”

Tony was going to throw up and that was going to be bad.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Water, bandages, antibacterial cream. Uh--” his gorge rose again and Tony ruthlessly swallowed it. “A couple packets of stitching floss, needles, alcohol. Pain medication, if you can get it. Antibiotics. An emergency room would be _great_.”

“Wait here.”

“Like, where the fuck else am I going?” Tony rattled the handcuffs.

The Winter Soldier gave Tony a brief, knowing look. “You said that before. Don’t make me catch you again.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There wasn’t any more time to strategize, or, you know, group bitch about the ‘bots. Tony checked one last time -- there was no telling Doom from his bots until one of them started bleeding, and even then, Tony wasn’t sure if he’d trust that -- on Bucky’s position, and then, “Friday, do your thing, let’s kick some ass--”
> 
> “--and chew some bubblegum, boss,” Friday sassed. “And, boss… we’re all out of bubblegum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More medical content, little bit gross

_Five days ago_

“Tony--”

The room where the signal was coming was just ahead, maybe the length of three more containers.

“Hmmm?” Like walking through the world’s largest junk pile, Tony’d seen weapons and war machines from as far back as the 1850s or so. Nothing was organized or sorted, it was just thrown around. Crates and boxes, loose guns and old canons. Weapons that were useless, and things that Tony didn’t want to even know what they did.

Just left behind.

He didn’t understand this at all. Tony picked up a round device from where it sat on top of what looked like an older model scuba kit.

“Tony.”

“Yeah?”

“They’ve got a chair,” Bucky said, and his hand went up, shaking, to point at something that looked like a combination dentist chair and torture device.  Around the top was a rotating headpiece. The arms and legs had restraints that could have--

\--could have held the Winter Soldier.

“Oh, fuck, is that--”

“Yeah, that’s-- that’s the device,” Bucky said, staring at it with haunted eyes. “It took everything from me, every single time. It didn’t matter how badly I wanted to remember, or even how badly sometimes I wanted to forget. Even little whispers. Everything that made me, me. Dreams, hopes, family. Friends. And they would tell me that I was some great Fist of Hydra, that I was making the world a safer place.”

Tony didn’t think Bucky even knew he was weeping; the tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

“And I believed them,” Bucky said. He reached out a hand as if he was going to touch the damn thing, caress it.

Tony shuddered. “Yeah, we’ll, um. Get rid of it. Destroy it. Don’t… just leave it, honey, it’s old.”

***

_Now_

Tony didn’t ask where the Winter Soldier got the supplies from. The Winter Soldier unlocked Tony’s hands and Tony shook sensation back into his fingers.

“Can I trust you not to run away?”

Tony didn’t even smile. “I won’t try again until after I get you stitched up, at least.” He tore open a packet of pain meds and dropped them into the Winter Soldier’s palm.

“I don’t need these--”

“I need them,” Tony said, firmly, closing the Winter Soldier’s fingers around the pills. “I… honey, believe me when I tell you that there’s a lot of things I would do for you, but cutting you open while you don’t have anything in your system? I don’t think I can do that.”

“You know me.”

“You know that I do,” Tony said.

“Who are you? Why-- I don’t remember, I don’t remember--”

“Shh. We can worry about that later. Take the pills. Lay back. And let me help you.”

Tony had seven doctorates. One of these days, he needed to find the time to go back to school and get an actual medical degree; the number of times he’d stitched his wounds, or someone else’s was absurd.

He knew what to do, mostly. Because he did read through some field medical guides. And because super soldiers had some extra science help going for them.

The Winter Soldier held his gun in one hand, and that gun was pointed directly at Tony, even as the morphine kicked in. The gun didn’t waver. Tony took a deep breath. The Winter Soldier wouldn’t shoot him. Not until after. Tony had to believe that, because otherwise this was just a waste of time.

“Try not to move,” Tony told him. He checked his tools, eyed the swollen and infected gash on Bucky’s abdomen. Slid the scalpel underneath the staple and yanked.

He kept working, not looking up from what he was doing. Not listening to the Winter Soldier as harsh breaths became ragged groans, and as groans eventually became screams.

He kept working, because he didn’t think he could start again if he stopped.

By the time Tony tied off the last stitch, the Winter Soldier was all but asleep. Tony dropped the needle into the pile of discards to be thrown out later. He didn’t announce that he was done. He didn’t say anything, but the Winter Soldier snatched awake as if he’d sounded an alarm, the gun pointed right back at Tony.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony told him, “except maybe to the bathroom to wash up.” And throw up.

The Winter Soldier twitched the gun in the direction of the hotel room’s tiny bath. “Go on.”

“Can I shower?”

“No. Fill the sink. I want to be able to see you. Leave the door open.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said. He stripped out of his blood stained clothes until he was wearing nothing but his boxers. His ankle was held splinted with what looked like wooden slats from a chair, and held with duct-tape. “Classy.” Using the wall to keep himself upright, Tony hobbled into the bathroom.

He almost cried, washing the blood off his hands. The Winter Soldier’s blood.

Bucky’s blood.

“Who are you?”

“Tony Stark.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” the Winter Soldier told him.

“Yeah, I’m uh, I’m getting that,” Tony said. “I don’t know what you want to know, honey. I’m Tony. I’m… Howard Stark’s son. You knew him during the war. I… I’m an Avenger. I fight alongside Steve Rogers. You know, Captain America? You grew up with him. I make your armor for you, these days. I’m… I’m your boyfriend. Does any of that help?”

“I know you,” the Winter Soldier said.

“Yeah, honey, you do.”

“So why don’t I remember?”

***

_Five Days Ago_

“I think we’re going to need a translator, here,” Tony said, staring at the-- crystal computer? He wasn’t quite sure. “Thor, what do you have on… weird bird-looking aliens?”

“There is no need to be speciest, my good friend,” Thor said, voice crackling over the comms. “I confess to having not seen this particular race before in my travels, but the universe is a grand and wide place.”

“Yeah, give me the tourism spiel later. Right now, just let me know what you can translate?”

“I require three moments of your indulgence,” Thor said, humming thoughtfully.

“I, uh, don’t think we got three moments,” Bucky said, nudging Tony with his elbow.

“What, the aliens are all dead,” Tony said. “Mummified, even. It’s a little gross, but not actively--”

“Step away from the Library, Stark.” A shadowy figure, cloaked in green and wearing an actively unattractive mask (to hide, Tony always assumed, an unattractive _face_ ) emerged. Doom. Great.

“You ever get that sinking feeling in your guts that things just aren’t going to be easy?” Tony wondered, slapping the faceplate to the armor down.

“It’s generally th’ case,” Bucky said, bringing his gun to bear. “Things were going jus’ a little too smooth.”

“Team, we’ve got Doombots, and a possible sighting on the Big Green Cheese himself,” Tony reported.

“Great,” Clint said, “we're fighting an army of robots, and I have a bow and arrow. None of this makes sense.”

“Someone cranked the decoy machine up to eleven,” Nat said. “We’ve got ‘em, too.”

There wasn’t any more time to strategize, or, you know, group bitch about the ‘bots. Tony checked one last time -- there was no telling Doom from his bots until one of them started bleeding, and even then, Tony wasn’t sure if he’d trust that -- on Bucky’s position, and then, “Friday, do your thing, let’s kick some ass--”

“--and chew some bubblegum, boss,” Friday sassed. “And, boss… we’re all out of bubblegum.”

“Right,” Tony said, buckling down and getting to work. Some days, he was pretty sure, he didn’t get paid enough for this bullshit.

Doombots; not his favorite thing. Friday divided the comm channels up, keeping a high end and an overview. She could analyze ‘bot attack patterns, give advice, update the current count. Somewhere in there, Tony was vaguely aware that Bucky and Hawkeye had started their ridiculous Gimli/Legolas shit, and he tuned that out as unimportant.

Doombots were not, unfortunately, easy to disable. Their armor was thick as small tanks, they tended to explode if he hit a vulnerable spot. Or, whenever Doom was feeling particularly nasty, petulant, or scared. All the time, then.

The room was filled, in an instant, with lightning attacks, flying, swooping robots that fluttered around like green bats, and--

“Tony, drop it like it’s hot!” Bucky hit the deck, sliding on his knees like he was at an 80’s hairband concert.

Tony went down, eating the floor, as the EM pulse grenade went off.

Well, that took care of the ones who were above the cone of effect. So, about half. Ish. Less than half? “What’s the count?”

“I would say the count is--” Friday started, “increasing as Doom portals more ‘bots in, boss. The count might be get the hell out of Dodge.”

“No way,” Bucky said. “We can’t let Doom have this… whatever it is.”

“Library,” Doom (or one of the Doombots, like there was a difference) said. “The Drovuuk sent representatives to Earth--”

Tony blew that one up, but the next ‘bot kept talking like Tony hadn’t even bothered it. That was unfair and annoying. “Friday, do we have any Iron Legions in the area?”

“Yeah, boss, I’m on it, activating, and-- ETA three minutes.”

“We don’t have three minutes!”

“It’s looking like we’re not going to have much success here,” Widow reported. “We need to cut our losses. Blow the place up, and we can pick through the rubble later.”

Tony hated that, he hated losing the opportunity to learn, to study, to explore, but he didn’t necessarily disagree with Widow’s assessment, or Bucky’s either. Couldn’t let Doom have it. And yet, blowing up everything to keep Doom from playing with his toys didn’t sit well with Tony, either. It was the childish tantrum version of breaking shit, so he didn’t have to share.

“Hey, Tony--” Bucky was yelling, pointing, “this shit here’s on fire, I don’t--”

Tony hated it when everything happened at once. His genius brain tried to track everything, and even his reactions -- amplified by Friday -- weren’t that fast.

\--something spilled onto the floor, weird and reddish brown, and apparently conductive as hell, because it crackled with excess electricity from the Doom bot--

\--Doombots opened a portal -- that was probably the actual Doom, but still, Tony never could be quite certain -- and stepped back--.

\--another ripped off Bucky’s protective goggles and face mask with one blow, cracking the plates and giving Bucky a bloody nose.

\--electricity jumped from the Chair, to conductive fluid, up Bucky’s leg, and--

Tony hit Bucky full force, grabbing the straps on the back of his armor, and blew them both through the portal--

Everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

_Now_

Tony woke up to a squelch of static. He jerked, found his hands bound over his head and jerked again, reflexively. His fingers were asleep, his wrists ached, his shoulders ached. He had a headache the likes of which he’d only experienced after a night of good partying, great drugs, and terrible sex. His kidneys hurt and his bladder was expressing, yet again, the dire need to go to the bathroom.

The dark ache in his kidneys was worrisome, as well as the fact that the last time he’d been allowed to pee, his urine was dark yellow. He was getting dehydrated (haha, de-Hydra-ted, his brain piped up. Tony ignored it. Irrelevant.) and since he wasn’t hungry anymore, probably malnourished as well. He wasn’t a supersoldier, and he wasn’t designed to keep going despite suboptimal conditions. He was going to need to gain the Winter Soldier’s trust here, or he was going to die.

And if he died because the Winter Soldier killed him, Tony didn’t know what that would do to _Bucky_ , who was… hopefully… still in there somewhere.

“Top 40’s kinda sucks these days, doesn’t it?” Tony asked. “There was a radio station I used to listen to, oh, ages ago, and their catchphrase was tune it in and rip the knob off. I think I still remember the frequency, if you’re--”

“Shhh!” the Winter Soldier snapped, leaning closer to the radio and turning the knob another minuscule amount. More static.

Super genius IQ and Tony still wasn’t smart enough to shush when someone with a gun told him to shush. It was going to get him into trouble someday. In fact, it probably had. “You know, no matter how hard you turn that dial, you’re probably not going to be able to go back to the seventies. Seriously, even in the seventies, Hydra shouldn’t have been sending encoded messages.”

“What do you know about Hydra?” the Winter Soldier gave Tony all his attention. Too much, really.

“Big bad off-shoot of the Nazis, we originally thought, although more recent information seems to indicate that Hydra, in one form or another, has been around for centuries, all the way back to the original discovery of the Monolith stone. I don’t know, by the time the Avengers got the briefing on that situation, Hive was already dead, the portal to Maveth was closed, and it seemed a done deal. None of that matters, right? So, Hive started the seeds of Hydra, which eventually led to the Red Skull, who Steve did something more or less permanent to, but like all bad ideas, it refuses to stay stamped out. Fascism, racism, all the -isms, polka, disco, and stuff put on top of Ritz crackers. All bad ideas that people won’t stop bringing up.”

The way the Winter Soldier was staring at him, Tony was pretty sure he’d gone right over that paygrade and hit the What the Fuck are You Even Talking About wall.

“Anyway, not your concern,” Tony went on. “Uh… let’s see, about three years ago or so, Steve Rogers, remember Steve? Captain America. Little tiny guy they blew up like a pufferfish to become the symbol for America? Rescued you -- Bucky Barnes, his best friend in the whole world? -- from Hydra, back during World War Two, but what we didn’t know at the time, is that you’d already been experimented on. So, later, they thought you’d died, but turned out you’d been recovered by Hydra, and became… that. The Winter Soldier.”

The Winter Soldier hadn’t stopped looking at Tony, which was unnerving. That flat stare, where Tony wasn’t even sure if there were any thoughts going on in his head.

“The Fist of Hydra,” the Winter Soldier said. “That’s what they call me. Sometimes… sometimes it’s _the American_. Or _the Asset._ Not this… Winter Soldier.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s… um. That’s the designation you were assigned while our side -- SHIELD or the CIA or whatever, no one really knows who our side is anymore -- called you, and the name kinda stuck. You were a ghost story. People didn’t always believe you existed.”

“But that’s not what you call me.”

“No, no it isn’t.” Tony knew he was dehydrated. He could feel his eyes prickling, the way his lids fluttered as he blinked away tears that wouldn’t form. “No. I call you honey, most of the time. Along with a varied list of ridiculous nicknames.”

“Manchurian Candidate,” the Winter Soldier said, slowly.

“Yeah, that’s… uh, that’s a movie, about a man who was brainwashed into committing an assassination. He played cards, and when the card came up, he went to the window and shot someone,” Tony told him. “After your time, 1959. But, uh, it turned out the book was heavily plagiarized from another book called _I, Claudius_. Been made into a movie a few times.”

The Winter Soldier looked down at the radio, static still pouring from its speakers. “What year is it now?”

“2019,” Tony said. “You’ve been out of Hydra hands for four years. You spent two years on the run, were later recovered by Captain America. After some… intensely awful situations on all sides, you were unbrainwashed, and you joined the Avengers. We’ve been lovers for just a little over a year.”

The Winter Soldier was still listening. That had to be a good sign, right? That he hadn’t told Tony to shut up, hadn’t expressed any disbelief. Maybe his brain was just scrambled from the explosion.

“Um… do you remember what happened? Before we were in the car, how did I get there? How did… how did you get there?”

***

_Mission Report, four days previous_

The soldier came to awareness in a muddy ditch on the side of a road. He was well-armored and armed for a mission, knives and guns in their holsters. A machine pistol near one outstretched hand.

Report: The Asset was in functional condition. Deep muscle bruises along the Asset's legs and back. They would impair movement, possibly for another six hours before healing was complete. Bruises and injuries consistent with damage from falling, or blowback from a powerful explosion. There was a long gash in his belly, an ugly, raw cut with ragged edges that bled sluggishly. That would impair functionality for a lot longer, if the Asset didn’t get medical attention. For now, however, he could operate in emergency mode. Divorced himself from the pain, concentrated on the mission--

The Asset checked his mission logs; no assigned mission incomplete.

There were no handlers or scientists or techs nearby. No medics.

No enemies.

The soldier lay in the ditch and considered his situation. He had protocols for completed missions. He had protocols for failed missions. He had protocols for standby, for maintenance, for pre-missions, for debriefing.

He did not have protocols for what had apparently happened. He was AWOL, absent without leave. Without intentions to desert or escape. Did the soldier intend to escape, or had he been taken, somehow?

There was a fog where his memory of recent events should have been. There was… nothing there.

He knew who he was -- the Asset, the Fist of Hydra, the American, sometimes. The Winter Soldier.

He had his skills and his protocols.

No mission.

No handler assigned.

No base of operations.

Near him, someone groaned. The Asset couldn’t see, but he immediately went into high alert. His finger ghosted over the trigger and he rolled, crawling to the edge of the ditch in order to peer over the edge.

The person -- if it even _was_ a person -- was clad in brilliant red and gold armor, looking like a high tech robotic knight of some sort. The armor was badly scuffed in places, dented in others. The Asset crept forward, smelling not only his own blood, but the armored person’s. Not a robot, then, although the ground near the person was stained with motor oil and hydraulic fluids as well.

The Asset moved closer, close enough to touch, and he did touch, running wondering fingers light over the armor’s surface.

Somehow, he knew what to do. A hidden catch at the base of the faceplate popped open the visor.

The man inside was handsome, with a neat beard and brown hair. A gash under one eye bled sluggishly.

“Are you my mission?” The Asset wasn’t even aware that he was going to talk until the words came out of his mouth. He didn’t usually question orders. Unless they were unclear, orders were to be obeyed. He didn’t have any orders.

He wasn’t sure what to do.

The man looked familiar somehow, like the Asset had seen him before, or talked to him before. But at the same time, he couldn’t remember any brilliant armor like this.

He only ever had two types of missions.

He killed.

Or he protected.

It was difficult to protect someone when they were dead. So he’d have to keep the man alive until he knew for sure what his mission was. “How do I get you out of this?”

The Asset probed at the neck join of the armor until he found-- there! A manual release.

Once he was out of the armor, the man was dressed in what appeared to be civilian clothing; not what the Asset would have recommended under armor like this, but it wasn’t his concern. A brief check, poking and prodding at the man, revealed that he was completely unconscious, probably from the blow to the head that caused the gash under his eye. And that he had a badly sprained, or maybe broken, ankle. His lower leg was swollen.

First things first. The Asset clamped scraps of wood he found to the injured leg, tied it with strips of cloth. It wasn’t a great splint, but it would do the job.

No medical supplies. That would be bad. The Asset was bleeding again. He bound up his gut wound as best he could. The bleeding needed to stop. But first they needed to be someplace safe. And for that, the Asset was going to need transportation.

“Don’t you die on me,” he told the man.

The Asset had no idea where they were or how they’d gotten there. But he had a fairly long skill set, which included hot-wiring a car.

He just needed to find one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hive and Maveth from Agents of Shield Season Three


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had Tony thought it actually couldn’t get worse? Had he really, actually, truly made such an epicly stupid declaration, even in his own head?
> 
> Well, if he had, no one was ever going to hear about it from him. That no one would ever hear from him again was looking more and more like a possibility, but Tony wasn’t going to cop to that thought either.
> 
> “Um… Winter Boobear, what exactly are we doing with another… captive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashbacks and panic attacks and attempted murder

_Now_

Had Tony thought it actually couldn’t get worse? Had he really, actually, _truly_ made such an epicly stupid declaration, even in his own head?

Well, if he had, no one was ever going to hear about it from him. That no one would ever hear from him again was looking more and more like a possibility, but Tony wasn’t going to cop to that thought either.

“Um… Winter Boobear, what exactly are we doing with another… captive?”

The Winter Soldier had woken Tony out of a sound sleep -- he'd been taking refuge in dreams-- by throwing an unconscious man onto the other bed.

“Might be Hydra,” the Winter Soldier said. “He's wearing the symbol.”

“Yeah, honeybee, but the thing is, a lot of assholes wear the symbol now. Makes them feel badass or cool or whatever the phrase is. But that doesn't mean he's anything but a new fangled skinhead.”

The Winter Soldier drew a knife. “Guess we'll see.“

“Oh _God_ ,” Tony said, bile rising in his throat. “Don't tell me you're going to question him.--” torture the man, skinhead or not “-- _here_?” For Tesla’s sweet sake, the man could just be a comic book fan. Lots of people wore the Imperial symbol from Star Wars without wanting to have a planet killing Death Star at their fingertips.

The Winter Soldier glanced around the hotel room as if he expected a full array of information extracting techniques and/or a team of Hydra bullies to jump out of the wall. When that didn’t happen -- thank god for small favors -- he appeared to be considering such conundrums as the thinness of the walls and the way noise -- say, _screaming_ \-- would carry.

“It’s not a secured location,” the Winter Soldier admitted.

“No, it’s not,” Tony said. “And someone -- even here -- is bound to wonder if your friend makes a lot of unpleasant noise. I’ve been--”

“You will convince him to talk, and to be quiet.”

 _The fuck?_ “No, no, no, you can’t lay this on me, I don’t know that man, he doesn’t know me, and I’m pretty sure if you do your murder hobo impression on him, screaming is exactly what we’re going to get, and lots of it.”

Which would be all kinds of bad. Police would be called. Generic, every day, John Doe cop with a wife and two point three kids at home. Not prepared for the Winter Soldier. Even if there were survivors to report the Winter Soldier and two hostages, and those reports were taken seriously enough for the intel to get back to, say, the Avengers, who might be able to do something, chances were good that there would be SWAT and tactical teams sent out after them first, and those men and women who were just doing their damn jobs were going to die.

They’d gotten Bucky out of jail and pardoned once on a “well, he was brainwashed, and he did help save the world” but there was no way in hell anyone was going to accept that in a court of law a second time.

Bucky would die, or be jailed for life, or be on the run for the rest of time.

Not to mention, let’s get back to all the dead bystanders and cops!

“Maybe--”

“No,” Tony said, flatly. “This is a bad plan, it’s a bad plan and I don’t want to be involved in it at all.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, it wasn’t like the Winter Soldier was asking for his advice. But maybe there was some part of Bucky in there somewhere that might wake up, might try to listen to Tony, might exert some influence on the murder kitten in the room.

The Winter Soldier glared at him, and Tony tried to tell himself it was a good thing. The Winter Soldier didn’t have emotions, not really, so something must have been in there, trying to talk sense. Which wasn’t going to help Tony if the Winter Soldier decided to punch him in the face a few times.

“What course of action are you recommending?”

“Uh--” Tony didn’t really know, because what? It’s not like the Winter Soldier could go put the guy back where he found him. _You put that thing back where it came from or so help me…_ It was a work in progress. “I don’t know how to find Hydra, I kinda keep hoping there’s no Hydra left to _find_.”

“Cut off one head--”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the idea. Evil never really stops, you can’t ever stomp it out, soon jackasses like this guy here who was just trying to make up for a bad childhood become the new face of Hydra. But your Hydra, the people who made you… they’re gone. Gone. We’re pretty sure, at least.”

“Nobody made me,” the Winter Soldier said, but he hesitated, licked his lips. His eyes darted around the room like a trapped animal.

“Yeah, honeybee, they did,” Tony said. “You were made. They made the Winter Soldier on top of the person who used to be there, James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Sergeant. 32557038,” the Winter Soldier said.

“Yes, that’s it,” Tony said. _Please, please, please, come back to me._

So, of course the Not-Hydra guy had to wake up.

It was just par for the course, really. Typical.

If bad luck could be captured in a liquid form, Tony Stark could bottle it like it was maple syrup.

_Fuuuuuck._

Tony had to admit, the Winter Soldier was fast on his feet.

Probably-not-Hydra boy started screaming, and the Winter Soldier was off Tony’s side of the bed, moving so fast he was a blur. He grabbed the pillow from under Tony’s head -- ow -- and covered PNH’s face with it.

Muffled screaming. Gasping.

It wouldn’t take much before the Winter Soldier smothered the guy.

“Hey! Hey, stop it,” Tony barked. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to the Winter Soldier, or to Bucky, or to PNH.

The Winter Soldier lifted the pillow.

PNH hitched in a breath.

“Don’t scream, asshole,” Tony snapped. “Just stop. I don’t want the guilt of living with him murdering your ass right in front of me, I already have enough guilt, thank you.”

PNH was not smart. Or he was panicked. He only barely got a second of air-raid siren pitched shrieking out before the Winter Soldier was holding him down again, pushing the pillow over his face, muffling the sound.

\-- _they shoved him face-first into the water, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t, didn’t dare, and at the same time, pushing back at them, he was cradling a car battery in his arms, braced every second for the jolts of pain that could mean his death. Wanting it to be over and still not wanting to die, still fighting, still_ \--

“Stop, stop it, _no_!” Tony yelled, trying to pull in air into a chest that was aching with sympathy, with memory.

When the Winter Soldier removed the pillow that time, PNH gasped for breath, face dark red as he was suffocated. There was a bit of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth where he’d probably bitten his tongue.

“Can we -- just not to this, not today?” Tony moaned.

PNH coughed, didn’t scream. Rolled over on his side, and the Winter Soldier let him. “Did you--” he gasped, “--have a better time? I could-- pencil you in for Thursday.”

Great. Just great. Not only was the guy Probably Not Hydra, but he was also still in possession of a sense of humor, after almost being smothered to death by the Winter Soldier. Someone that Tony might like, be able to relate to.

“Get him to talk,” the Winter Soldier told Tony. “If he starts screaming again, I will shoot him and start over.”

Tony barely had licked his lips, trying to decide what to say, when the Winter Soldier actually got up and left the damn room, slamming the door on his way out.

“Is he fuckin’ serious?” PNH demanded.

“That’s the Winter Soldier, pal,” Tony said, laying back, feeling the ache in his spine and wishing his own pillow wasn’t on the floor, covered in PNH’s blood and spit. “That’s as serious as it gets.”

“I thought he was reformed. Trial and pardon and all that.”

“You’re remarkably well informed for someone who’s probably not Hydra. I can’t even decide if I want you to be Hydra or not.”

The guy squirmed around a bit, made a face, contorted. “Anyone who’s read a damn newspaper in the last year knows who he is.”

“Yeah, all twelve of them. Printed press is dying,” Tony said. J. Jonah Jamison, at least, was finally getting his own, watching the Daily Bugle have to sell out was enormously entertaining.

“It’s been on the news, too, also, social media. There are like memes about the guy an’ everything,” Probably-not-Hydra said.

“So,” Tony said, hitching in a breath and trying to relax. It wasn’t easy. The Winter Soldier had bound him to the bed in such a way that the pillow had provided necessary support and now his arms were stretched tight and the weight of his body was yanking at them. Asshole. “Are you Hydra?”

“Is this some really twisted version of good cop-bad cop, where the good cop is into kinky BDSM stuff?” The guy wriggled around a little, chewing on his lip. “My name’s Bob, let’s just start with introductions, shall we?”

PNH was looking a little more like Possibly Hydra.

“Bob, nice to meet you, I’m Tony,” Tony said. It was hard to see what Bob was doing over there without putting more strain on his neck.

“And in answer to your question,” Bob said, and he made one amazing heave, pulling his legs in, and with another twist, had his cuffed hands down around his ankles, and then in front of him. Neat trick. Tony’d seen it a few times. Natasha and Clint sometimes competed to see which one of them could get out of cuffs faster. “I used to be in Hydra. I’m not anymore, but you know, getting a brand removed is expensive, time consuming, and the wrong person sees you with a Hydra symbol seared into your shoulder, they might ask questions.”

“You-- used to be in Hydra,” Tony said, because what the hell else was he going to say.

“Yeah, the dental insurance was better than AIM’s. And it sure as hell was better health insurance than I got now, working for a car insurance company. Seriously, you’d think that insurance companies would offer good insurance. Guess what? They don’t. Like, some of my old crew, they went to work at Pfizer. They don’t give away samples of their little blue pills, just because you work there.”

Tony blinked a few times. “Uh… you work for a car insurance company?”

“Yeah, Wizard Auto, you know, the one with the little lizard spokesreptile,” Bob said. “Anyway, this has been fun, but I’m going out the window now. Good luck with your pet psycho.”

“You’re not going to offer--” Tony rattled his wrist.

“Now, now, I may be a reformed evil goon -- theoretically, because honestly, car insurance companies are pretty damn evil, and I’m still a goon,” Bob said, “but I’m also not stupid. One moves faster than two. Also, I know who you are, Tony Stark. That’s your boyfriend. And either you need to stay with him to snap him out of this shit, or you’re both doing undercover shit, and I’m not taking you with me. Sorry, man. That’s just how it goes. You seem nice, though.”

“You… uh, you do too.”

“So, hope to never see you again. Bye.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Please--_ ”
> 
> The Winter Soldier barely even blinked. He just walked over and unlocked Tony’s wrist. Even still shackled to one side, letting his arm down, taking his weight off it, was anguish so great it was almost pleasure.
> 
> He wept, it hurt that much.

The Winter Soldier didn’t come back for a while. A long while.

Tony was actually starting to get seriously concerned. Both for his boyfriend, and for the population at large, but also for his dignity. His shoulders fucking hurt. He couldn’t slide up on the bed, he couldn’t lower his head all the way to the bed. All he could do was sort of hang here. His fingertips went numb, and then both his hands.

His shoulders were screaming, the muscles insisting they were on fire.

When the door slammed open and the Winter Soldier came in, Tony almost cried with relief, and then cried some more, because the Winter Soldier just stood there for a long moment, not doing anything.

If he was going to shoot Tony for letting Hydra Bob get away, that at least would be new and different pain.

“ _Please--_ ”

The Winter Soldier barely even blinked. He just walked over and unlocked Tony’s wrist. Even still shackled to one side, letting his arm down, taking his weight off it, was anguish so great it was almost pleasure.

He wept, it hurt that much.

“It’s all right,” the Winter Soldier said, and he was petting Tony’s leg, gently stroking his fingers up and down Tony’s thigh. As if he thought Tony was being seduced. Or was a cat. “I’m not angry. You’re not in danger.”

Bucky unlocked his other wrist and gently helped Tony to lay down. “Here you go, dangle your hand off the side of the bed, that’ll help.”

Even if moving hadn’t been agonizing, Tony might have hesitated. One of the very few childish notions he’d never quite been able to shake was that limbs hanging off the bed were bait for monsters.

He didn’t even have to look at what remained of his boyfriend to know that monsters existed, and that they came from nowhere. And they took things that you loved.

“It’s all right,” the Winter Soldier said again, soothing him. Petting Tony’s hair, stroking the back of his neck.

“It’s not,” Tony sobbed, too exhausted and in too much pain to really notice that he was having a breakdown. Or at least, too worn down to feel in any way ashamed of it. “You’re gone, you’re gone and I miss you so much, and this is awful, and--”

“I’m right here.”

“Bucky?”

“Not really,” the Winter Soldier said. “But you can call me that, if you want to. I think-- I listened in, to what you and Bob talked about. I bugged the room a long time before I brought him here. I think… I think he was telling the truth. So, I went to look. Libraries and newspapers. I did some research.”

“You believe me?”

“I believe that you believe it,” the Winter Soldier said, which wasn’t quite the same thing.

“So, can we go home?” Tony wanted home. He wanted home, he wanted good food that was the right temperature, he might even willingly commit murder at this point for a cup of damn coffee. He wanted a shower and a few hours of sleep. “Please, honey, I just want to go home. We’ll get you some help, everything you need. Just let us help you.”

“Home,” the Winter Soldier said, thoughtfully. “I bought you some things.” He held up an insulated bag. Tony didn’t want to know where he got it, because the Winter Soldier didn’t look like someone who would shop at Bed, Bath and Beyond (more like bloodbath and beyond) and buy a purple lunch box that had owls on it. He unzipped the bag and pulled out… cheeseburgers and a large fry. Not piping hot anymore, but, oh, god, _Tony could smell them_.

His shoulders screaming in protest, Tony grabbed the bag anyway, stuffing half the fries in his mouth in a single go.

The Winter Soldier watched him eat, and he just smiled. It wasn’t quite _Bucky’s_ smile, but it was soft and almost gentle. Tony finished practically licking the excess cheese off the paper and the Winter Soldier offered him a Coke in a paper cup, beads of condensation dripping down the metal hand. Tony wouldn’t wait any longer, he lunged for the straw, leaving the cup in the Winter Soldier’s hand and drinking.

“I’ve been taking bad care of you,” the Winter Soldier said.

 _You kidnapped me_ , Tony thought about snapping. But he was too busy drinking. And once he got to the bottom of the cup, his other, pressing problem, was even more pressing. Tony didn’t even need to ask, apparently his body language, or the Soldier’s understanding, was good enough.

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

And help him, the Winter Soldier did. Brought him into the bathroom, and Tony discovered that his abused arms weren’t up for fine motor control.

The Winter Soldier didn’t even hesitate; undid Tony’s fly, tugged his pants down around his thighs, and pushed Tony down onto the toilet. He kept one hand on Tony’s shoulder, but didn’t actively watch, and Tony was too relieved to be self-conscious.

Bucky had seen everything he had to offer. Dozens of times. The Winter Soldier was something else entirely, and Tony didn’t even know what--

“You want a shower?”

“Oh, god, I could kiss you,” Tony said, not really thinking about what he was saying. He swayed and almost fell getting up from the toilet, though, so he wasn’t sure how--

“I’ll help you,” the Winter Soldier repeated. The soldier shoved a rubber stopper in the tub, and filled it with steaming water. He undressed Tony like Tony was a child, helpless and unable to do it himself, and Tony was so weary that he just let it happen.

The soldier lifted him up and deposited Tony in the hot water. Oh, god.

The tub was tiny, cramped, undersized even for a standard builder-grade tub, and there was rust around the spigot, but the water was warm, unkinking aching muscles, and Tony hadn’t been clean in days, and his ankle still hurt, but--

The Winter Soldier used the empty soda cup to pour water over Tony’s hair, supporting him with one hand as he leaned back. He worked shampoo into Tony’s hair, some lime-coconut scented hotel crap, but just having his scalp clean and not itching was _amazing_.

It was like being an invalid, which Tony supposed he was in some ways. Or like Bucky was pampering him.

 _You need to not forget that he’s not Bucky, not anymore_ , Tony told himself sternly, but it was so easy to let the Winter Soldier take care of him, to feel those strong hands and agile fingers, to cling to the Winter Soldier’s chest while he rinsed out Tony’s hair.

The Winter Soldier used a cheap, rough washcloth to gently sponge Tony, cleaning him impersonally, even briskly. Which didn’t seem to stop Tony’s body from wanting to respond, just to the Winter Soldier’s closeness, to the _Bucky_ that seemed to slowly be seeping through. _Come back to me._

The water was grey and growing tepid by the time the Winter Soldier went to lift Tony out. He was wrapped in a towel and carried into the bedroom again.

Naked, shivering a little in the overly processed hotel air.

The Winter Soldier turned down the blankets with one hand and Tony scrambled back into the bed, turned around to see that the Winter Soldier was staring--

At Tony’s ass.

Well, he’d always been told it was his finest Asset (he’d joked about that, back when joking about the Winter Soldier had been dark humor and not horrible accuracy.)

“Like what you see?” Because he was Tony Stark, and he couldn’t… just not. Even when it might have been safer. Smarter.

The Winter Soldiers seemed to realize that he was staring. And Tony wiggled just a little bit -- he really couldn’t do more than that, his back and hips ached that much -- and then there was a Winter Pup Tent going on, and it couldn’t be more noticeable.

 _Bucky?_ Would sexing him up actually work? There were some serious consent issues all the way around with that idea and Tony wasn’t--

It didn’t matter what Tony was or was not sure of. The Winter Soldier climbed onto the bed after him, moving like a predator, like a big cat that wanted to play with its food.

Tony wasn’t scared for his non-existent virtue, but, oh, God, if something happened, something like that, he wasn’t sure Bucky would--

The Winter Soldier took Tony’s chin in that insanely gentle grip, between his metal thumb and forefinger, brought his head up, and kissed him.

It was a gentle, tentative sort of kiss, like the Winter Soldier had never kissed anyone before, and only knew how to do it from watching movies, which in all honesty, never made for very good kisses. The best kisses were just not very photogenic.

The only thing familiar about it was the smell of the Winter Soldier’s skin, the feel of his fingers on Tony’s chin, and the way his eyelashes -- sinfully long -- fluttered against Tony’s temple. And still, Tony melted into it. He couldn’t help it. Somewhere in there was the man he loved, the man he would die for, and maybe, more importantly, the man he _lived_ for.

“I know you,” the Winter Soldier said, a breathy whisper as he released Tony’s lips. “I _know_ you.”

“Yeah, honey, you do,” Tony said, touching the Winter Soldier’s cheek, stroking it as if it were made from spun glass instead of skin and muscle and bone, instead of super soldier serum. Instead of whatever Hydra had reforged him as. “You know me.”

“I… loved you.”

Tony thought his heart couldn’t hurt any more than it did, but hearing Bucky’s sweet voice, using the past tense. That was… that was painful. Just rip it out, throw it on the floor, stomp on it til Tony was dead. Set the whole thing aflame.

“I love you,” the Winter Soldier said again, as if re-affirming it, and the rest of Tony’s life started in that second.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony buried his face into Bucky’s throat, breathing in the scent of him. Bucky surrounded him, enveloped him, and he was complete. Whole.
> 
>  _If you don’t love me, will you please pretend._ A tiny corner of Tony’s brain was singing bits of songs, concerns, snatching quotes from literature. He was a fool. He was an idiot. This was a mistake.
> 
> He clung tighter, trying to hold on to the idea of Bucky, the physical presence of him.
> 
> “I will always love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where the dub-con comes in... there's all sorts of gray area around who is capable of giving consent.   
> You know your mental state better than me.   
> you can hmu on tumblr for more details of what you're getting into

It wasn’t the same; not those deep, wet, sloppy kisses that Tony was used to. Like being kissed, being touched, for the first time.

That same excitement glittered, the frisson of nerves along his back, the way he wanted to do everything right and remember every touch.

“I want, I want,” Bucky was saying to Tony’s neck, his lips, his skin, with each kiss and lick and taste. “I want it--”

“I want you, too,” Tony assured him. And he _did_ , even if it wasn’t quite his Bucky anymore.

Bucky peeled out of his clothes, awkward, and blushed and averted his eyes as Tony rolled over to help him with the complicated snaps of his armor. Like he was shy.

Tony remembered the first time, back when Bucky was shy, when he didn’t understand how anyone could want him, half-cyborg, mostly mad, assassin and traitor, broken and remade. When Bucky knew that the person he was, the man he was, should have been irredeemable.

Tony had coaxed him then, and he did it now. Opening Bucky’s clothes and tugging at them until he could discard it on the floor.

The site where Tony had done emergency surgery -- if you could even grace that with the definition -- was healing, the cuts scabbed over. The sutures had been ripped out, probably with Bucky’s fingernails, and the bruises had the appearance of weeks old injuries. It would barely hurt him, and not hinder the Winter Soldier at all. Still, Tony brushed gentle fingers of the brown and yellowing skin with a hiss of sympathy.

There were fresh scratches near the seam of the arm; Bucky had always hated it, the alieness about it, the way it marked him as being _other_. Sometimes, when he had nightmares, Bucky would wake up trying to claw it off. Like it had a sentience of its own. Tony had soothed him through those dreams, the way Bucky would soothe Tony through dreams of smothering in the blackness of space, of holding a car battery desperately to his chest while men tried to drown him, until he agreed to whatever they wanted, just stop, just please…

“I’m… I’m well,” Bucky said, catching hold of Tony’s wrist, turning his hand and dropping a kiss along Tony’s palm.

Instinctively, Tony curled his fingers around that strong jaw, holding the kiss like a promise. “Are you?”

“I… think so?” Bucky was still tentative, still unsure, but it was so much better than it had been. Tony wanted to weep with relief.

There were so many questions Tony wanted to ask; was the brainwashing relapse wearing off, had he had some sort of breakthrough, was it… it didn’t matter and those questions could wait, because Bucky was nuzzling at Tony’s throat, licking the skin there and blowing cool air over it. Tony had the shivers, and not just because he was naked and still damp from the bath. He arched up against Bucky’s body, feeling that skin on skin, craving it.

And nothing mattered except that Tony had Bucky back.

Everything else _could_ wait.

Everything else _would_ wait.

Bucky rolled him over, arms and legs tangling together as Tony struggled to push himself closer, to get more of that body on him. Bucky groaned into Tony’s hair, stropping them together, a rub of velvet and heat. Tony ignored the ache in his ankle, wrapped his legs around Bucky’s hips and pulled him even closer. So not even air was between them.

It was probably wrong, it was probably the height of stupidity. If there was a therapist anywhere in a hundred mile radius, that person was probably inexplicably disappointed and didn’t know why.

Bucky kissed him like coming home, and Tony was lost to it.

“Tell me what you want,” Bucky murmured, nipping at Tony’s ear, pulling on the lobe, his breath hot and heavy.

“All I want is you,” Tony told him. “Love you so much.”

And that might have been too much to say, because Bucky pulled back to study Tony’s face with a puzzled sort of earnestness. Tony’s emotions rose into his throat, choking him, tears prickling at his eyes, and then Bucky kissed him again, tongue thrusting into his mouth.

Tony couldn’t breathe, and it didn’t matter at all, because Bucky was kissing him, Bucky was there, and he was rubbing obscenely down against Tony’s hips, stroking their cocks together. With a trembling hand, Tony stroked down Bucky’s back and arm, across to his nipple, flat and brown and perking with interest. Bucky inhaled sharply at the soft caress and Tony leaned up to take it into his mouth, to lick and lave at it, until Bucky was gasping. His arm curled around, supporting Tony’s head, keeping him right there, wordlessly begging for more.

Letting his teeth scrape across the sensitive skin brought another round of moans and incoherent words.

“Want, I want,” Bucky whined, “wanna be in you.”

“God, _yes_ ,” Tony said.

Bucky slithered down Tony’s body, hands and mouth moving over Tony’s skin with avid appetite. Worshipped Tony’s body, hands running along Tony’s thighs, mouth dropping kisses along his chest and hips.

Maybe it should have worried him, been some sort of warning sign, that Bucky had lube, but as soon as those clever fingers started circling Tony’s hole, he found he didn’t really care. His body was taking over and his brain was checking out.

Bucky didn’t take as much time as usual, and Tony found himself hissing and raising his hips to ease the ache, but even in Bucky’s hurry and roughness, he was tender, and sweet, and he kept kissing Tony as he pushed in.

Bucky tried to say something, Tony didn’t know what, but he kissed the words away. “Just love me,” he told Bucky.

Tony had to admit, even though there was something wrong with that, Bucky was damn good at following orders. He moved, his hips rising and falling in the most ancient rhythm. Tony’s fingers dug into Bucky’s back, clinging desperately every time Bucky thrust deeper into his body.

They moved together, writhing and rocking. Tony mewled and moaned with every motion, and Bucky responded to those sounds with greater effort. The heat baking off Bucky’s skin was intense, and his strokes grew jerky, erratic, more frenetic.

“I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” Bucky told him, “wanna wait for you, but--”

Tony’s release came with flawless pleasure. He shook underneath Bucky, his entire body trembling, muscles squeezing around Bucky’s dick. He might have cried Bucky’s name, or praise, or a swear, he didn’t even know.

Tony’s breath stopped in his throat as he watched Bucky fall apart over him. He’d seen Bucky’s face a hundred times during climax, and each time, he was awestruck by the sight. Bucky was beyond beautiful, he was sublime in his passion, the elegant lines of his throat straining as he tossed his head back and shattered.

Bucky plunged in, again, and again, as if nothing in his life had ever been so wondrous and he didn’t want it to end.

“I… I love you,” Bucky said, as if he was discovering it all over again.

Tony buried his face into Bucky’s throat, breathing in the scent of him. Bucky surrounded him, enveloped him, and he was complete. Whole.

 _If you don’t love me, will you please pretend._ A tiny corner of Tony’s brain was singing bits of songs, concerns, snatching quotes from literature. He was a fool. He was an idiot. This was a mistake.

He clung tighter, trying to hold on to the idea of Bucky, the physical presence of him.

“I will always love you.”

***

“I could kill him,” Bucky said.

“Well, that’s a disconcerting announcement to wake up to,” Tony muttered. “Who are we murdering?” He was completely naked, and while he wasn’t chained to the bed, he still had a sprained ankle. He could probably run for it, if he had to, but-- Bucky was still standing at the window looking out through a microtear in the drapes.

“Rogers,” Bucky said. He didn’t look at Tony.

“Steve’s out there?” Fuck, Tony _was_ still naked and that was going to look. Well, bad. It _was_ bad. Tony scrambled for his clothes, trying not to sigh or cringe away from filthy fabric as he pulled on his trousers. He zipped up, and then rolled onto his side. “Why are we killing Steve?”

Not that he particularly _wanted_ to kill Steve, even on their worst days, and in their most bitter arguments, he and Steve were friends.

“I ain’t gonna,” Bucky said. “But I could. He’s stupid. Careless. He’s out there. _Baiting_ me.”

“They’ve got a trap set,” Tony surmised. “You think Bob told them where we are?”

“Someone did,” Bucky said, darkly.

Hmmm. Tony’d thought that guy was in it for himself. But Bucky was right; someone had to have spilled it, and Bob was the likeliest candidate. “What’s the plan, boss?”

“Two options,” Bucky told him. “I can get away, but it means leavin’ you behind. Or killin’ all of them.”

“Them? It’s them now?”

“Widow. I can practically smell her perfume,” Bucky said. “Hawkeye. Banner.”

Fuck, they thought they needed the _Hulk_?

“They expect you to run for it,” Tony decided. “Leave me behind and split. It’s half a win.”

“No,” Bucky said. He left the window, spun around and crossed the room to kiss Tony aggressively. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Then… we surrender?”

Bucky swallowed. “Are we… we?”

“We’re always we,” Tony said. “We’re a team. Always.”

“You’re on my side?”

“I like to think we’re in this together, yes,” Tony agreed. “I won’t let them hurt you, you know that, right?” Not that Steve would let any of the team hurt Bucky either, no matter what the casualty list looked like. Steve was even more dedicated than Tony was. Sometimes that had been an issue, between them.

Bucky glanced at Tony, his eyes a little wider than normal.

 _He’s scared, holy shit._ “Together, Bucky. Always.”

Bucky nodded, jaw jutting out stubbornly. “Then we surrender.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song Tony is singing in his head is called Lonely Holiday by Old '97s


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Stark,” the woman said, dropping a stack of books onto the floor with a thud. “Are you awake?”
> 
> “Five more minutes,” Tony complained.
> 
> “Yes, Mr. Stark, that’s about how much time we have left on this mandated therapy session.”
> 
> “I’d like to continue with the mindful meditation,” Tony said. He didn’t open his eyes. He was pretty sure the therapist was glaring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post incident therapy session

_Later_

He was going to get a horrible crick in his neck. The whole reclining-sofa thing just did not do it for him. Of course, hunched over a computer or a workshop table got one’s spine in a knot most of the time anyway.

Correction, he already had a crick in his neck, it was just kept at bay by continuing to doze off. He could feel it, just like the tension headache, just like the way his throat was constricted by the tie, just like his mouth was dry and yet his nose was stuffed up, so he was breathing through his mouth and his throat was going to hurt like hell as soon as he came all the way awake.

But none of these things were as pressing as the need to just keep dozing. He knew, the way his stomach clenched and the way the light was slitted against his face like bars on a prison cell, and the way the air conditioning buzzed fitfully, that there was something even worse out there, once he was awake.

A fact that he had to face.

That he’d forgotten, somehow.

Something he forgot.

“Mr. Stark,” the woman said, dropping a stack of books onto the floor with a thud. “Are you awake?”

“Five more minutes,” Tony complained.

“Yes, Mr. Stark, that’s about how much time we have left on this mandated therapy session.”

“I’d like to continue with the mindful meditation,” Tony said. He didn’t open his eyes. He was pretty sure the therapist was glaring at him.

“You know I’m doing my best here, but--”

“I know. Everyone wants to make sure I don’t have some sort of Stockholm Syndrome after being taken on an involuntary vacation---”

“Kidnapped, psychologically tormented, physically neglected, and possibly sexually assaulted by--”

“Nyet, no, nuh-uh, didn’t happen,” Tony said, sitting up and rubbing at his temples.

“Mr. Barnes’ therapist has indicated that--”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to share patient information,” Tony interrupted her again. He didn’t want to talk about this. Bucky hadn’t wanted to talk about it, either, and so Tony was kind of hanging on in this realm of _we’re pretending it didn’t happen_.

“M-- look, Tony,” she said, sitting back down, her books in an untidy heap on the floor. “You were both mandated therapy as part of your joint experiences. I’ve spoken with both of you. My colleague has spoken with both of you. We have spoken with each other. The people not talking have been you and Mr. Barnes, and we’re concerned--”

“Who’s concerned?”

“To be quite frank, your _boyfriend_ is -- and I might add, rightfully so,” she said. “Look, it’s perfectly normal to have resentment or--”

“No, I said,” Tony repeated. “For the last time, Bucky didn’t _rape me_. I mean, I know, okay. I know how it looks, how it sounds, but I also know _how it was_. If I’m the so-called victim here, I get to define what happened.”

“So, what happened?”

“He was trying, okay,” Tony said. “He was trying so hard, I knew that. He didn’t know what was going on, he was confused, he couldn’t remember, but he was fighting it. He was coming back. He wasn’t… he didn’t hurt me.”

“That doesn’t mean you were consenting,” she said.

“I think we all know that my… libido is a little out of whack. I get hot and bothered about things that absolutely should not turn any sane person on, but it does and it works for me. It… it wasn’t like that,” Tony said. “He asked me what I wanted, and I told him the truth. I didn’t feel compelled or afraid or forced. There’s… there’s nothing to worry about here.”

“You had sex with him because you wanted Bucky back,” the therapist said.

“duH.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Have you met the Winter Soldier? Not someone I really want to date, long term.”

“So, you thought, what, sexing up the Winter Soldier would wake Bucky?”

“Worked for the Prince and Sleeping Beauty, didn’t it? And you can’t say that I’m not a Prince,” Tony said, trying to bravado his way out of this.

“Do you think _Bucky_ was consenting?”

Tony deflated. Well, that was the real issue, wasn’t it? What the Winter Soldier wanted, and what Bucky wanted, those weren’t always -- or even often -- the same thing.  “I don’t know,” Tony said. “It was complicated.”

“Well, let’s talk it out, what made it complicated?”

“The Winter Soldier’s not… he’s not a _separate person_ or anything. Not entirely. A lot of Bucky’s core personality was stripped away and the Winter Soldier was grafted on top. But that’s still _Bucky_ , underneath. They say… they say you can’t hypnotize someone to do something that they wouldn’t do, but I think everyone knows that’s crap.”

“Or it’s not,” the therapist said. “James Barnes killed a lot of people, before he ever became the Winter Soldier. And we all like to say war is different, but I think that it’s also true that it’s a platitude. It’s different because we say it is, not because murder affects us differently if we kill someone out of fear, or because we were told to do it. It’s a line, taking a life. And once we’ve done it, we never go back to the person we were before that happened.”

“You say that like you know something about it,” Tony said.

“I wasn’t always a therapist, Mr. Stark.”

“No, of course not. Agent… uh, Lady Agent.” Tony never remembered her name.

“So, the Winter Soldier could be built on top of James Barnes, who was a skilled sniper. You know this, so what made… your experience this time okay? Because you believed that Bucky would never sexually assault you?”

Tony chewed his lip. “No. No, I think… I think it was possible that the Winter Soldier would have forced the issue anyway. Whether I’d said no, or yes. Enthusiastic consent or otherwise. That possibility existed. I know that. But I also believe that _Bucky_ would never forgive himself if he did that, even under the Winter Soldier’s influence.”

“You did it, so that he wouldn’t have to feel guilty, later?”

“That puts a lot of hope on the future, right. Assuming that we’d get out of that, that… that there would be a _later_ in which guilt might be felt, or assuaged. And hey, I’m a futurist. I respect the future. I believe in the future. I worship at its feet. What kind of futurist would I be, if I couldn’t project that hope for _us_? For me, and for him. That we’d have some sort of future, together.”

“Do you see where there might be some concern? Both for Mr. Barnes, and for you? If you need survivor therapy--”

“But you see, it didn’t matter,” Tony said. “It does _not matter_. I love him. He was kind, and it was good, and I liked it. He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t do anything that I hold against him. There’s nothing to forgive, forget, move past, none of that. None of that has to happen.”

“I know you won’t let us know if that turns out not to be the case, if you need help processing it, or-- you know, you’re remarkably unconcerned about your mental health.”

Tony shrugged. “I love him. That’s a fact. It’s not an opinion, it’s not a mental condition, it’s a _fact_. Incontrovertible.”

“All right,” Agent Therapist said. “Our time’s up for this week. You have two more sessions before the Initiative will let you back on active duty. But I’d like to suggest that for the next two weeks, you and Mr. Barnes consider going to a couple’s session. I’d be happy to moderate. But I think, and this is important, Mr. Stark. I think you two need to speak with each other, for healing, and to be able to move past this. I won’t keep you off the team over it, which you know I can do, so don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“I know.” It was part of the whole accountability thing. Mentally damaged people didn’t make good superheros. That was the current theory. That people needed to work on their issues in therapy before becoming a living weapon to fight aliens and superpowered bad guys. It would have been better, sometimes, Tony thought, if being mentally damaged wasn’t what _made_ people superheros to begin with.

Smart, sane, stable people didn’t leave their wives and their successful business and their happy, comfortable life to go fight villains. Happy and content people kept to their _happy and content lives_. The damaged people fought to make sure those people could do that.

“I’ll see you next week, then,” Agent Therapist said.

Bucky was waiting for him when Tony walked back out into the reception area. No one else was there, superhero therapists didn’t have loads of patients.

“How did it go?”

Tony made the face. “Ehhh…. We might… we might need to talk,” Tony said.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, lacing their fingers together. He squeezed. “Yeah, I think we do. But, Tony, dollbaby… I...we need to talk because I want this -- us -- to work out. So I’m jus’ gonna throw that on the table right now.”

“We can talk,” Tony said. “And then, we’ll just move on.”

“Like the old man said,” Bucky quipped. “ _Together_.”


End file.
